


Savage: Origin

by MarrowMeister



Series: Symbiote Origins [3]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Blood, Death, Friendship, M/M, Murder, Original Character(s), Original Fiction, Other, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-21
Updated: 2019-10-21
Packaged: 2020-12-27 10:56:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21117626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarrowMeister/pseuds/MarrowMeister
Summary: The origin story for the next symbiote in the group, Savage. He is a large and intimidating, yet simplistic symbiote bonded to a man who does nothing more than enable his vices.





	Savage: Origin

The forest air was oddly dry in scent. Typically feeling somewhat humid in comparison to the much more desert like climate of the rest of New Mexico. Noah was in no way a regular hunter of any kind. He had only ever pursued small game and even then, it had only been a few times in his life. He considered hunting for sport to be completely pointless and borderline offensive to nature so if he ever did choose to join someone in the pursuit of the hunt it was solely as long as he ensured they would make use of every part of the animal. Hunting was not nearly as adrenaline pumping or exciting as it was when portrayed in the movies, the majority of the hours spent doing so consisted of just waiting around till something came into view. There were certainly other ways one could go about stalking wild game in hopes of finally forcing it to relinquish the life it held, but such aggressive tactics were for the more prepared and experienced of hunters. Noah did not personally invest much money into the game and the few times he did chose to participate, his tools were loaned. The hunting seat he had been lucky enough to acquire for the trip was terribly uncomfortable. He sat in the cushion, squirming every few minutes to readjust himself, sometimes leaning against the base of the tree and other times simply leaning forward in a hunched position.

The first few hours had been exciting, he and his father had arrived at the hunting grounds before the sun had fully risen into the sky. Noah did hold a physical resemblance to his father more so than his mother. His father’s skin was marginally darker than his own, but both held the brown skin of their Mexican heritage. His father only stood at most an inch taller than him, but at first glance he appeared to be nothing more than a slightly out of shape, older and hairier version of Noah’s own body. Johnathan was only in his mid-50s, yet he had aged remarkably well save for his lack of exercise. His face held few wrinkles and his eyes did not appear tired with age. He turned to his son and presented him with the weapon he would be spending the entirety of the day with.

Noah grasped the rifle firmly; he was not scared of the firearm but was more than aware of the capabilities such a weapon held. It had not been loaded yet, no gun owner with common sense would travel with their weapon loaded; especially one without a safety. The barrel of the gun was smooth, recently polished. Noah knew his father would only occasionally travel to a firing range for extracurriculars but did take pride in the proper management of his personal items. The metal of the barrel was most probably a black steel of some sort Noah inferred while brushing his index finger and thumb against it. The entirety of the stock and handhold were some sort of polished wood, none that he could tell off the top of his head. The grain was somewhat wide but overall the weapon did not appear to be too expensive, most probably a few hundred at most. There was a small indented oval just between the butt of the gun and the handhold that Noah correctly assumed was the location he would load his bullets. His father held his own weapon, another long-barreled rifle of some sort but he could not determine the exact type as it was obscured from his view, sitting cradled between his father’s torso and left arm. The pickup truck they had arrived in was stained heavily with the mud off the unkempt roads they had driven through to get there. The glossy red of the vehicle had faded over the years after such continuous exposure to the desert sunlight, but the actual vehicle powered through, refusing to be replaced. John pulled the plastic handle on the back of the bed and dropped it down with a thud, he surveyed the tools he had brought for the trip with his son and efficiently chose what he believed they’d need. He grasped the shoulder strap of a classically camouflaged backpack. The green splotches of different shades easily spotted in an urban environment but would completely meld with any woodland environment. Noah reached out to his father, attempting to help as best as he could. The backpack was heavy, but not an unbearable weight by any means. He placed his own and another bag beside their feet and continued unloading the equipment from their vehicle. His father pulled a folded seat of some sort that had been patterned with a much more modern woodland camouflage, several branches and leaves were part of the design; as if a direct snapshot of nature had been printed onto the material.

“This-“ he demonstrated as he unfolded it and showed the dangling buckle straps “is to sit on” he almost laughed out. His accent was nonexistent to Noah, who held a similar southern drawl to their words but it was so minimal almost nobody ever commented on it. The major difference between the two however was how much deeper in bass Noah’s father spoke. Noah didn’t have a particularly high pitched voice by any means but when compared to his father he occasionally did feel slightly emasculated. “No but we’re gonna be out here for a while and its much easier and safer to sit up in a tree, so imma give this to you and I’ll be on the ground. It aint the most comfortable thing to sit on in the world but its much easier to relax when you’re sittin pretty with a gun and some snacks and are thirty feet off the ground.” His father smiled warmly and dropped the seat to the ground, “which brings me to _my_ favorite part of this whole thing.” Noah absently looked at the seat he would likely become intimately acquainted with over the next several hours. “Love me some good hunting snacks!” Noah eagerly agreed with a nod, having thoroughly enjoyed the excuse to sit outside in the shade and eat a salty combination of assorted jerky meats and trail mix to his heart’s content. His father dangled two gallon sized plastic zip bags in front of him and placed one inside each backpack. “alright last thing Noah, I just gotta spray you down with this real quick cause I wanna make sure we deal with our scent.” He produced a green bottle that looked very similar to some household cleaning supplies that would clean glass. “I’ll do you and then you get me then we’ll be good.” Noah nodded, understanding the intention and spread his arms out wide as the fluid was methodically sprayed across every inch of his clothing. He quickly returned the favor to his father and tossed the bottle back into the truck as they both lifted the tailgate together.

Noah hefted his bag, bringing both straps around his shoulders to evenly distribute the weight as best as he could just as his father did the same. They both headed into the woodland area in search of nothing in particular more than just a general area to plant themselves. The walk was not too long and passed even quicker as the pair spoke and rehearsed the imperative rules of hunting safety and firearm safety. Noah had been told by his father not to load his firearm until they arrived, clearly not too excited about the thought of his son spending more time than he needed with a loaded weapon. It wasn’t so much that John felt threatened by his son, just that accidents happen and all it takes is one accidental trigger pull for someone to end up with a bullet in their chest. The fallen branches cracked beneath their feet, the occasional scamper of some unidentified wild animal piqued their interest but they had silently agreed that it wasn’t about killing any animal they saw. They just wanted one, they wanted to choose one deer and that would be their victory. Noah nearly collided with his father who had silently stopped in front of him. He stopped suddenly and yawned, still feeling the effects of being up so early. The morning sun poked through the tree line and Noah looked away, irritated with the blinding rays. His father turned around and aimlessly looked around at the many trees that all looked the same yet were all more than likely a multitude of many species. Noah watched as his father motioned him towards the base of a nearby tree. “this is a Douglas Fir, at least I’m pretty sure. I’m not a-“ he searched for the word for a moment. “-I’m not a botanist but these things are everywhere. Anyways, This one is a good thickness-“ he leaned a shoulder into he bark and pushed. The entirety of the plant did not move in any visible manner save for the rustle of a few leaves. “seems sturdy enough.”

Noah understood what his father was trying to say, and he dropped the folded hunters’ seat to the ground. “So what, do I just try and climb this and then tie the thing up. Then we just sit here till some poor fucking deer comes by and one of us shoots it.” Noah may have sounded uninterested, but his voice had betrayed him, it was likely due to how tired he was. He removed his backpack and placed it on the ground before taking the rifle he had been walking with and using its long strap to sling it across his torso. He quickly grabbed the backpack once more and slung it over both shoulders, pressing the body of the gun against his back somewhat uncomfortably. A temporary measure until he could relax in the relative safety of his nest.

“I mean yeah basically, plus this one looks pretty easy to climb. Its branches are evenly spread out enough.” John clasped his two hands together and dropped to a knee, offering a generally unnecessary boost to his son but continued so anyways. Noah pulled the straps of his backpack until the were just a little too secure and approached his father. He was easily lifted several feet and awkwardly brought his knee as high as he could until it just barely clambered over a nearby branch. Noah wasn’t exactly unathletic but still struggled with the effort needed to effectively maneuver to up the tree branches. He stood just a few feet above the top of his father’s head, both feet firmly planted on the seemingly sturdy branch. A few other branches obscured his vision’s clarity but it was obvious enough what was below him. His father coughed and said something that Noah didn’t quite catch as his father brought the folded chair above his head. Noah squatted as best he could, clutching the bark of the tree he stood on tightly as he dangled an arm below, grasping at the plastic object. His hand wrapped around the cushioning where he would soon be laying his back against and pulled it with a grunt. Although one hand was now both off balance and in use by his carrying of the seat, climbing the next few branches was nowhere near as difficult as the first. Noah planted one foot in front of the other as his father remained at ground level, patiently awaiting any sort of sign that his son had reached some sort of comfort and safety. Noah looked down between the dozens of branches, he had probably climbed just a little _too_ high but it ultimately didn’t particularly matter. He felt far from balanced in such a precarious position and every movement he took was slow and methodical, a fall from such a elevation would more than likely allow him to live… with several broken bones. He leaned into the base of the tree and wrapped both arms around it until he could just barely feel his fingers on either hand. He grasped the straps and plastic clasps of the chair and unfolded it to its proper position. The design was minimal but Noah knew it was more than satisfactory and he was much more pleased than if he had been forced to plant himself on the forest floor. The clasps connected with a satisfying clip and he pulled both straps until it was taught against the tree. With a cathartic ‘plop’ Noah sat on the chair, dangling his legs over more than two dozen feet of air.

“Alright, I’m good” Noah called down to his father in a somewhat subdued yell. Noah wiped his hand across his nose, a small trail of mucus having just begun to collect below his nostril. His face scrunched as he wiped the fluid on to his side and then ran his sleeve across the skin of his upper lip. “yummy.” He spoke with sarcasm that could have killed.

“Alright! Bullets are in the bag, and whatever else you need. Just, give me a holler if you need anything… or if you gotta drop a deuce. I’ll be nearby, if you see one you don’t need my permission to go for it.” The one sided exchange was pleased Noah, knowing that the hard part was now over and he had nothing more to do than wait and enjoy the silence.

A few hours went by, some slower than others. Noah brought his rifle’s sight to his right eye. He squinted, closing his less dominant eye on reflex before reopening it. He knew that it was generally better etiquette to keep both eyes open. The sight was naked, neither he nor his father had decided to place any sort of advanced sight mechanism like a scope upon it. Noah had more than enough practice with the weapon he held to know his capabilities. He slipped his middle, ring, and pinky fingers of his right hand into a somewhat small oval ring just behind the trigger. The lever provided very little resistance as he pumped it forward and back a couple of times. It clicked audibly with the movement but still glided smoothly, having been oiled and cleaned just before their outing. Noah placed the lever-action rifle in his lap and unzipped his backpack. He peeked inside, just scanning his inventory to see what goodies his father had prepared. The clear gallon bag of snacks sat on top, he pushed it aside and took note of the unwrapped roll of partially used toilet paper with a small yellow sticky note attached to it that read ‘for emergencies’ with a playful smiley face. Noah scoffed at the joke and continued searching within the bag. A small cardboard box sat at the bottom that was far heavier than he had anticipated. Noah did not think his father would have given him an entire box of ammunition, seeing as it was relatively expensive. He knew that he would not use more than a handful of rounds at the absolute most but it was nice knowing that in the absolute worst case scenario he had a well-cared for gun, nice vantage point, and enough ammunition to take down a bear or two. The cardboard was an eye pleasing silver that had the words ‘.30-30 Winchester’ written across the bottom left of the box, along with an eye catching graphic that could easily draw in customers. Noah pulled at the tab at the top of the box with his fingernail, opening it easily and sliding the plastic rack out ever so slightly. He carefully pulled only five rounds from the package, holding them securely in his palm and pushing the box back into its packaging. Noah examined the rounds carefully. Each one having a much rounder tip than the pointed tips of the more commonly used 5.56mm rounds. He moved the bullets in his hand until one of them was cradled between his thumb and index finger. Noah leaned forward in his seat and looked closely at the divot to the side of the gun. He gingerly pressed the head of the first bullet into the metal flap and pushed. It took just a bit more effort than he initially put forth, but the next four bullets slid in easily. Noah brought the lever forward and cautiously looked down the open cartridge, each bullet sat aligned and there did not appear to be a chance of jamming in sight. The Gun sat fully chambered and ready for action, a deadly weapon placed in the hands of a young man.

Noah squinted just behind the trigger, knowing that traditionally his weapon was supposed to have a trigger safety of some sort built; but he passively remembered an off hand comment his father once made about it not quite working. Noah allowed the weapon to remain rested on his lap, with the barrel pointed off into the distance. He had been intently watching the forest floor for hours at this point and had not heard much sound from down below, assuming his father had chosen to do the same. Noah heard an all too human whistle below him, not too loud but just enough to get his attention. His body language straightened, and he perked up in his awkward seat. He had seen several wild animals during the few hours he had spent waiting, even a couple of deer. However, all of them appeared to have been moving already or simply just out of range of his meager eyesight capabilities. Noah squinted into the distance below, attempting to see through the scattered foliage from the thick forest brush. A fully grown adult male deer sat between two trees no further than a few dozen feet in front of him. Noah brought his rifle to his eye line, planting the stock firmly against his shoulder to combat the recoil of the inevitable shot. He forced himself to keep both eyes open and took in the sight in front of him. The animal was indefinitely male, its antlers displaying that fact the world. It brought its head down to the earth and sniffed, Noah could not see its eyes from so far away but inferred they were wide and anxious. No prey animal could ever truly relax, always waiting for the possibility that its life could be ended in a violent and brutal fashion. Noah pointed the sight of the gun to the rear of the animal, its black tail flopping absentmindedly in no different a manner than someone who would flex their own hands. He slowly aimed further and further towards the head; he and his father were not trophy hunters; the goal was meat. A kill shot to the head would be the best choice of action to harvest the most they could wrap their greedy human hands on but the use of rifle rounds instead of shotgun pellets meant that there would be a significantly larger amount of forgiveness for non-lethal shots. Noah grimaced at the thought of having to pick through the torn flesh of an animal to find and remove buckshot.

The deer shifted its stance, likely deciding it was time to move on. Noah heard his father whistle below him once more, a sound that he took to mean that he may lose his chance if he did not hurry. The wild animal’s ears swiveled, searching for the source of the sound. It did not scamper away but did turn its head towards Noah’s general location. The gun felt heavy in his hands, he had been supporting its full weight for over a minute at this point and forced himself not to shake. Killing a wild animal was never easy, the psychology of such an action would threaten anyone who had yet to become desensitized to the process. Noah finally aligned the prongs of the iron sights over the deer’s skull and exhaled completely. The lack of air in his lungs allowing him to fully focus and acquire an accuracy that would match most sharpshooters. He squeezed the trigger, his finger just barely breaking past the required force. The gun exploded loudly out of the front of the barrel but Noah was more focused on not losing any balance from the sudden force applied to his shoulder. Even with the proper placement of the stock, the force of the rifle would easily bruise after just a handful of shots. Noah quickly back towards his prey, eager to see victory. The very first thing to enter his mind was that he had missed, a natural thought to consider as the body was nowhere in sight. Then again, it could easily be wrapped in the unkempt wilderness just out of view. “Did uh, did I get him?” Noah asked quietly to no response. He looked down to the base of the tree he sat in and repeated himself, louder than before. “Did I get him? Did I hit him?” he shot out with anxiety and excitement all wrapped together. A few moments passed and then a familiar voice yelled back towards him.

“I think so but I’m not too sure! Just wait here I’m gonna go check, stay up there and I’ll let you know” Noah watched as his father loudly pushed through the foliage. His steps became quieter but his movement was easy to follow. Noah eyed his father as best as he could, slowly placing his rifle back onto his lap. The weapon had not changed in appearance, after all, why would it. Yet the idea that it had just taken a living creature’s life within his own hands made Noah feel as if something should have changed. There should be some sort of memorial, even for something as meaningless as a dead deer. Noah looked away from the slow but sure progress his father was making and into the backpack before him. He quickly scanned the items, the nearly empty plastic bag of food, the roll of toilet paper, even the small white box with the red cross labeled ‘first aid kit’. Noah finally found what he had been searching for, having looked over it several times due to its solid black nylon sheath. He pulled the rather small blade from its protective sleeve and held it tightly. It was not a weapon; it was a tool. He pressed the tip of the blade against the wooden stock of the gun and pressed. The glossy finish protested at first but Noah lifted the blade and took a more forceful position with his hand. The second time he pushed he easily cleared through the finish layer and scraped a vertical line downwards no longer than two inches at most. To anyone else it would appear as nothing more than a scratch or unintentional scrape against an otherwise immaculate rifle. Noah knew however; the tally, however meaningless it appeared, represented a life he had taken.

The gunshot echoed in Noah’s mind, he lingered on the memory before it repeated in his head once more yet significantly louder than before. He didn’t feel particularly traumatized, or even really shaken by the overall experience yet he could feel another gunshot ring in his ears. He looked around in mild confusion before finally registering that he was not in fact reliving an explosive firearm discharge but rather hearing an entirely separate gun fire off several times in succession. He immediately felt a panic creep up his back and settle in his gut, the cold sweat spreading across his skin forcing him to squirm. Noah hesitated, searching for the source of the noise as an all too human scream pushed itself into the air, plopping itself violently into both of his ears. His father was a traditionally masculine man, overcompensating as much as he could to survive the toxically masculine environment, he had grown up in. That just made it all the more chilling that he would call for help, a primal and uncompromising cry that let anyone know in the nearby area that he was in real danger. Noah felt himself moving without much thought, at first squirming in search of what to do and where to go. He forced a collective breath out of his lungs and grasped his rifle tightly. He through the strap over his shoulder and across his back and dropped from his seat. His brain had not put much thought into whether or not to bring his bag or anything else with him but his muscles had made the decision for him. The first branch down was only a few feet below him, he dropped to it quickly and hugged the base of the tree for support. With more effort than he would’ve liked, Noah continued his way down the tree. His hands became raw with tender skin, the rough nature of the tree’s bark barely breaking skin but stinging heavily. Noah felt he had made it more than halfway down and when he dangled his legs below for support on the next branch, he felt his fingers slip. Noah knew he didn’t scream but could process the entirety of his few seconds long fall. He knew landing would hurt…

Whether by sheer luck or just a rather positive coincidence, Noah connected with the ground and seemingly avoided any major injuries. His entire spinal column throbbed after landing with so much force, but the distance had likely only been a few feet; not enough to have broken anything. Noah heard himself groan and rolled over to his side, having temporarily forgotten the immediate cause of his pain. Another gunshot rang off followed by a much more wet sounding scream that had been eerily silenced before its crescendo. Noah pushed his arms into the ground as hard as he could and coughed loudly as he forced a deep inhale. He scrambled to his feet and looked around wildly, somewhat disoriented as to what direction he needed to head. His brain was foggy, his thoughts just felt… unclear. Noah rubbed his head and looked back up to the nest he had just crawled down from in order to orient himself in the correct direction. Without another haunting sound to properly guide him Noah estimated the direction he had last heard the shots come from. He charged forwards, lumbering with little balance and nearly tripping on every root system that had sprouted from the forest trees. Within seconds his unfocused vision began to correct itself and he spotted a single tree that appeared different from the others. A bloodied shard of what Noah could only assume was bone jutted out from the bark; through closer inspection he felt his hopes rise just as fast as they had fallen. The bloodied fragments plastered into the outer shell of the tree and all over the ground were velvety and generally free of any flesh, just some blood. His assumptions quickly fell to that of the deer he had taken aim at, hoping with every bit of his soul that the nightmare before him was nothing more than the remnants of a misfire that had slid just an inch or two higher than the deer’s skull and directly into the antler. Noah knew he could not bring himself to relax however, although the mess he stood upon was not his dear father he had still heard the raw and unadulterated fear the man had verbally expressed. Noah scrambled forward once more, his dexterity finally leveling out after the disorienting shake the landing had given him. He slung the rifle from his back into his arms and held it tightly, the blood draining out of his knuckles as they turned white from such force.

Noah cornered the tree, seeing nothing out of the ordinary… but his ears on the other hand. His ears alerted him to a ragged and heavy breathing, almost wet sounding. He looked around and spotted nothing, forcing himself as best as he could muster to find the source of the noises. A familiar voice gargled something incoherent, yet the cadence and tone was unmistakable. Noah had known the only thing he would find when he came searching was the source of his fears. His father’s crumpled body lay before him. Nearly completely impossible to spot at first, appearing somewhat out of focus to his bloodshot human eyes. The man was dirty, his camouflaged patterned clothing spattered with dirt and the unambiguous stain of human blood. There did not appear to be too much, but the man wheezed, nonetheless. “oh shit oh fuck oh fuck WhatDoIDo shit” Noah’s words were messy but purposeful. He dropped his rifle at his feet and collapsed to his knees in one swift motion. His father appeared fully conscious, simply dazed and confused regarding his current situation. Noah brushed his hands aggressively and wildly over his father’s body, wiping the chunks of dirt and dead leaves off of him as quickly as he could muster. His father’s wet breathing was erratic, becoming shallower every few breaths but there was a quick and violent reaction when Noah brushed over the upper right of his father’s torso. Noah watched as his father’s eyes reddened, likely due to the lack of oxygen; yet his determination seemed to grow. For every second his body began to fail, the man forced another second of life into himself. John coughed loudly, droplets of blood catching themselves in his somewhat unkempt mustache and beard as he forced himself into a sitting position and weakly brought his fingers to a hole Noah had not seen upon his inspection. John dug his fingers into the shirt and pulled, tearing the fabric wildly until his bare and bloody chest remained.

Noah felt a moment of clarity within his mind as his hands moved before he officially told them to, the backpack beside him unzipping quickly and the small white box with the faded red cross practically glowing with purpose. The rusted hinges of the tin squeaked as Noah flipped the box open quickly and grasped a medium sized roll of medical tape. He dug around the tiny box as best as he could, the tiny finger sized bandages almost comical in their pointlessness. Noah pegged the tin with force off into the distance, the answers he needed not inside. With a bout of pure desperation Noah shrugged his somewhat heavy jacket off, and then immediately tore the green, foliage patterned long sleeved shirt off of his own back and into two uneven pieces by tearing at the collar. The dense fabric was the best option he had as he pressed one half against the thumb sized hole with as much force as he could without pushing his father to the ground. The man’s shouts quickly gave way to bursts of wild and bloody coughing as the cloth grew damp. It did not soak with blood quickly, rather the dark fluid oozed out at a consistent pace allowing it to be controlled easily. Noah shuffled behind his father with the other half of the shirt and scanned over him quickly, having put two and two together that it was most likely a gunshot wound… which meant the bullet may have exited. Noah felt his eyes going over the same areas over and over. A moment of panic set in as he took note of a freshly formed series of blood droplets that oozed from the back of his hairline. He began pushing his hands against his father’s backside in no discernable pattern, searching for anything that could have meant the bullet had left him and choosing the more lethal problem over the possibility of a torn scalp or minor brain injury. Noah felt himself give up, resigning his thoughts to the possibility that the round may still be lodged within his body. He returned to his father’s front side and pressed the second half of his torn shirt against the first, this time much harder, ignoring the cries of pain. With little to no forethought he grasped the roll of tape that was no bigger than the face of a wristwatch and pulled at the tongue. Noah pressed the sticky part of the tape to his father’s side and began circling beneath his arms quickly and tightly. The roll thinned out rapidly but within seconds Noah had encompassed his father’s torso in a makeshift field dressing that would stop the bleeding and hopefully help with his breathing… somehow. Noah felt that there was nothing more he could do at that very moment, yet the adrenaline-fueled haze he felt himself in refused to secede. John looked around at nothing in particular, a weak smile pulling the corners of his lips upwards.

“Than-“ John wheezed as he inhaled, the tightly wound tape compressing somewhat in response “thank you Noah.” His father nodded as he sat on the forest floor, no longer in direct danger yet treading the threshold of death’s door until he received proper medical help. Noah’s brain fired off in a moment that made him acutely aware of how one tracked his thoughts had been, he approached the backpack and its disarrayed contents with haste. He searched inside, pushing the once important objects of the toilet paper roll and mostly finished bag of snacks aside. He knew what he was looking for but it did not appear to be inside. With little regard for privacy, Noah scanned his surroundings for the opposing backpack that his father had carried into the hunt, spotting it against a nearby tree. He crawled over to it and grasped the shoulder strap, tugging it closer to him. The bag appeared to be much heavier than it felt as he pulled. A moment later Noah realized why, the entirety of its contents had fallen out and all over the ground, and nearly the entirety of the dorsal portion of the bag was in tatters. Noah gazed over the fallen items, a wave of relief and excitement flooding from his toes to his fingertips when the satellite phone revealed itself. He tossed the destroyed bag aside, feeling terrified of the animal that left such a mark. Noah clutched the satellite cellular phone to his chest, a must have when travelling to areas of isolation. He pressed his fingers into the spongy button, staining them with blood that was not his own. 9-1-1 flashed on the off yellow display and rang, warbling through the earpiece. Within the first few rings a distinctly male voice picked up and spoke into the line. Noah opened his mouth to speak yet no words came out, he felt his body betray him.

“9-1-1, what is your emergency” repeated on the line once more, the voice on the other end sounding somewhat annoyed by the inconvenience of being so much as contacted. Noah felt his brain collect itself and he coughed into the phone.

“I- I don’t know what happened, I think my dad’s been shot I think there’s an animal out here! I don’t know what to do he’s not breathing good his breathing isn’t good!” Noah sputtered into phoneline as the voice on the other side suddenly shifted in tone. The man was much more professional and urgent. He began asking for information that Noah knew was just out of reach.

“Police officers and emergency medical services will be on their way soon. Stay on the li-“ Noah dropped the phone into the dirt. His hand shaking and heart beating faster than it ever had before. Noah wanted nothing more than to turn to his father for reassurance but knew that if he averted his gaze for even one second that he could die. The hulking shadow creature before him oozed with a tar like substance. What had once been some sort of black bear was no more. Noah’s eyes focused on the creature, just as the monster stared back. Neither one wished to make the first move and Noah felt his thoughts race. The fur of the black bear was matted and sticky in appearance, as if it was covered in a somewhat fresh layer of a goo like substance. Noah was unsure if it’s eyes glowed red or if the sheer terror it inflicted into his soul was forcing him to see something slightly skewed from reality. The bear’s one entirely black fur coat was now streaked with a crimson substance in some sort of asymmetric pattern that was too bright to be any sort of blood, yet organic and seemingly alive in movement. Its breathing was heavy, as if every lungful was filled with a trembling rage that flowed out of a mouth that had too many teeth. The air surrounding the creature was thick, the scent uncompromising. Noah felt his eyes water, not in fear or sadness at his inevitable death, but the absolute tenacity of the odor in the forest air. It was something of death, something unholy. As if the very air that left the animal’s lung had been tainted.

Noah had seen black bears before. They were not uncommon at zoos; yet this one was different. The sheer mass of its body was likely double of any member of its species. Noah felt himself flinch as its forward paws flexed, the dirt beneath its claws darkening as the ooze upon its skin wet the ground. Noah turned his head, not quite losing eye contact with the creature but aiming himself towards his father… towards his gun.

Noah threw himself laterally, only separating himself a few feet from where he had been just moments ago. The distance he closed a far cry from what he could have acquired from a standing position, or even a running start. His vision had tunneled, the object in front of him becoming the only thing of importance, the only chance at survival. He knew that a bear that large could not be killed by such small arms fire, but he hoped it could be stunned… or maybe even scared off. The latter thought sounding ridiculous as it rebounded off the inside of his skull. He outstretched his hands, locking his elbows in any attempt to close the distance between himself and the lever-action repeater before the hulking monstrosity could close the distance.

The butt of the weapon was smooth, its polished stock not allowing for an easy grasp; especially one of desperation. Noah felt himself concentrate on nothing but the weapon before him, choosing not to even look towards his attacker as such a distraction could be his end. His finger closed around the barrel and his opposing hand pulled the firearm into his grasp. There was a natural efficiency to his movement as he fell on to his back and pointed the barrel between his legs. The repeater was not a particularly long barreled weapon and Noah knew that a sharpshooter’s aim was not required for such a massive target.

The bear was large, its movements agile. Its sightline never shifted away from the prey it stalked, the prey it watched yet could not think of why it did so. There was a cloudiness in its mind, as if something more than instinct guided it. It watched tightly as the boy in front of him dived to the side, grasping at some object that the bear felt itself recall from just minutes earlier. It had swiped his paw at another human and there was a loud sound that forced the bear to hide. Its judgement was cloudy and its mind fragmented. The creatures in front of it were not food, they were not prey. Yet something within, something alien guided its actions so. The bear barreled forward as the human pointed something between its legs.

Noah aligned the barrel to the bear’s skull, just between its haunting effervescent eyes. His finger tightened into a curve and squeezed the trigger of the weapon he had almost regretted using just minutes prior. There was no bang, no explosion. The weapon did not fire. The bear was upon him now, its odor forcing him to breathe through his mouth. Any trace of fear or instinct in the animal’s eyes once again replaced by an unadulterated rage. At that moment, Noah realized he had never cycled the next round. He never pulled the lever of the rifle. He never ejected the spent shell. His life was now over because of a careless mistake he didn’t even know he had made.

The pain of such a massive creature, such a predator, scraping its claws against the tender flesh of human skin was nearly indescribable. There was a numbness at its core, as if the body had not prepared for damage at such a deep level. The nerves of Noah’s organs were able to sense pressure, yes. Yet they were not prepared for the destruction that had been thrust upon them. Noah wanted to scream, but there was no air. He choked and felt a drowning sensation as his throat filled with the irony copper substance that was supposed to give him life. He rolled to his side as the bear lifted his claws, tattered with the flesh and shreds of human skin it had just removed from Noah’s body. Noah’s brain was not producing coherent thought any longer, there was nothing. Noah could not feel his muscles move, but he knew they spasmed and flailed against his will. The ground grew wet with his blood and fluids and the last thing Noah saw before his vision faded into oblivion was a very confused, very soft, and now very normal looking black bear.

Noah’s nerves tingled. His entire body was in a state of confusion, as if it wasn’t quite sure if the sensations it was receiving were accurate. There was nothing but darkness surrounding him for a few moments until he realized his eye lids were closed. He felt as if there was almost a disconnect between him and his own body, as if the muscles were delayed in listening to his nervous system’s commands. His eyes opened widely and the grey interior of a concrete building greeted him. His brain ached with a dull migraine that had centered itself just behind his eyes. Noah inhaled deeply, nearly coughing at the sudden and intense scent of human urine. He told his body to sit up which only listened after just one second too long. His surroundings were bare; urban yes, but bare. His thoughts finally caught up to the environment he found himself in and realized it was some sort of jail cell. It was not particularly large, but clearly meant for at least two individuals. Noah planted his arms on the floor, the flat yet rough texture generally unpleasant against his palms, as he pushed himself into a seated position. He had been laying on the floor, undisturbed by the one other man in the jail cell with him. Noah coughed and forced himself to focus on his environment, the unpainted concrete walls were depressing and cold in appearance. An unfamiliar voice spoke towards him, but his ears did not pick up on the specific words. Noah shook his head and pushed himself into a standing position, brushing a large quantity of dust off of his shorts. His fingers brushed over a dry patch that felt completely out of place on his pants. Upon closer inspection he realized it was in fact a dry patch of dirt and blood that had blended together. Noah felt the migraine that had nested behind his eyes suddenly explode into a wave of nausea and confusion. The memory of his experience in the forest with his father and the nightmare creature of a bear flooded back into his skull, nearly overflowing it as the contents of his stomach pushed themselves all the way to his gullet and out of his nose and mouth. A wet combination of pre chewed jerky, and a mess of other foods splattered against the floor as the inside of his throat and nose burned from the unrestricted stomach acid. Noah’s chest was soaked with sweat, his shirt had been removed sometime during his transport to the jailcell, likely due to the tatters that been left after the bear attack… **The bear attack!**

Noah pressed his hands against his head firmly, doing anything he could to lessen the effects of the explosive headache that had no ending in sight. “HowAmIAliveHowAm I alive how am I alive…” the nearly incoherent words drooled from his mouth as his unsettled stomach continued to try pushing its contents out. Noah dropped his hands to the floor for support as he trembled, weak from the heaving.

“Oh look who decided to join the world of the living!” the words were more ironic than the man could have known. A tall man approached the iron bars of the cell and looked down at his prisoner. “bet you didn’t think you’d end up here now did you? Oh. And just so you know, your father is still alive you disgusting piece of shit.” The words stung, the very untruth within them worming their way into Noah’s brain in a way that made him wish he could scream down the officer’s ear canal how wrong he was. The rage boiled beneath Noah’s skin, the idea of being falsely accused of hurting someone he cared about causing him to want nothing more than to hurt his accuser. It was an irrational hatred, an out of character feeling that he had had never felt but now it was as natural as breathing. Noah stood up, his body protesting the movements for only a moment until the nausea faded completely.

“take-“ Noah coughed and inhaled deeply. “-Take that back. I didn’t hurt him, I **saved** him you disgusting… you human” he nearly didn’t recognize his own voice, it was harsher than before. It was raw, and un-tempered. A rage fueled statement that oozed power and confidence, something Noah had never felt quite to that magnitude before. The officer stared at him with an inquisitive look, almost cracking a smile at the threat.

“Son, you were layin there… _Next_ to your dad’s body who had been shot with the exact same type of bullet in the gun that you were holding. And the best fucking part, you had only fired one round. So imma go out on a limb here, flex some of my detective muscles and paint this lovely picture for ya.” The man was fit, not particularly bulky, yet confident in his mannerisms. “Forensics is gonna get back to me on this and tell me what I already know. You and your dad went out for some good ‘ol fashion deer hunting. And you shot ‘im. Simple as that aint it?” The officer stretched mildly in place, before walking right up to the bars and staring down his captive. “I mean c’mon, did you really expect to get away with this somehow? You thought that calling the cops would make you look _less _guilty? Son, we found you absolutely covered in his blood and your hands had enough gun powder residue to mark Charles fuckin Manson as guilty.” The man smirked at Noah, paying no mind to the other man in the cell, a regular who never really stirred up trouble. A man by the name of Calvin somethingrather who was just a homeless drunk who occasionally needed to sleep the night off in a cell. “So you, me, and every other officer in this station are gonna sit pretty until your father wakes up from his surgery and tells us everything we want to know. He got lucky, you missed anything too vital and only pierced a lung.”

Noah marched towards the bars, the small barrier between him and the man being the only thing keeping him from ripping his lying throat out. The anger was primordial, volatile even; and Noah refused to combat it. The feeling slowly felt natural, like it belonged. A rage that he would once have done anything in his power to fight he now leaned in to and wanted to use for nothing more than to turn into the monster that the man in front of him saw Noah as. Noah wrapped his hands around the iron bars tightly, the metal felt softer than he imagined it would. Noah waited for the little voice in his head to tell him he was going too far, that he needed to stop, and everything would sort itself out. The words never came. [Nothing can stop us. You and I are one now and we will not be denied!] The words scraped along the inside of Noah’s skull, as if the source was foreign and not his own. He did not flinch, didn’t question; rather Noah silently agreed and pulled his arms away from each other. 

“Son, I don’t know what it is exactly you think it is you’re trying to accomplish. But unless you’re on ten different kinds of PCP, you aint pullin… those… bars… apart…” the words slowed as the officer watched a very average looking, hairy, Hispanic kid who was no older than the man’s own 20 something year old son pull two solid iron bars apart with his bare hands. The metal groaned and Noah began screaming a cry of pure fury. The other man in the cell had been out cold this entire time and only just began to come to. He mumbled something about wanting some peace and quiet just as the officer drew his gun. Noah’s ears rang loudly, nearly every sound in the room had been artificially tuned out as he focused on the one task in front of him. There was a part of him that was aware that what he was doing should have been impossible, but he chose to ignore it in favor of the reality he was currently living in. The bars parted fully as thick black veins crept up his brownish skin, tainting the skin as he felt himself break a sweat. The officer pointed his gun at Noah without hesitation and screamed something that Noah didn’t quite process. Noah cracked his neck to each side as his breathing grew heavier, now seething with a raw power he had never felt before but chose not to question in fear that it would dissipate. Noah flexed each hand into a fist as the policeman in just on the other side of the warped bars began shaking ever so slightly, his aim never faltering as his finger teased the trigger. There was no more room for logic in Noah’s head, only wrath. Noah screamed once more, the black veins that had started at just his arms now spreading all across his body. He felt his chest tense, the muscles flexed against his will as his once average frame grew in density. The very musculature altering ever so slightly as every inch of his skin darkened, an unfamiliar ooze bubbling from below his pores and spreading across his body. Noah was just over six feet tall when he stood up straight, but now he towered over the man in front of him. His legs had turned an inky black, nearly triple his previous musculature. It was an artificial thickness that had covered his entire body, yet it felt as if it was his own muscles and tissue.

“I WILL FUCKING **EAT** YOU” The creature once known as Noah screamed out.

Officer Borough was a very average man. He worked a very average job as a police officer that he didn’t particularly love, nor particularly hate. His brother and father had both spent their lives in the American military, claiming they wanted to ‘serve the American people’ but Grant Borough was not the kind of man who wished to die in a sand filled hole somewhere in the middle east so that politicians in Washington could line their pockets. Instead he had chosen a route he considered much safer, be a police officer in small town, New Mexico. He now found himself holding a pistol that just didn’t quite feel as dangerous as it should have, pointing it at a massive black creature that had swallowed an all too vulnerable human boy beneath its skin. It exuded an energy of power in the air, as if nothing could stand up against it and live. It towered over the officer and was likely somewhere around 7-8 feet tall. A walking mass of muscle and meat. Its oily black skin was only broken up by thick and randomly striated crimson veins that shifted and moved across the skin organically. The creature’s eyes stared down at him, they had no pupils but he could feel the lens like eyeballs digging into his presence, viewing him as nothing more than an obstacle. With every movement of the raging monster’s head, an afterimage followed the eyes. A faint glow that lingered in delay no longer than a second after the skull turned.

“wh-what the fuckk?!" he cried out as Grant squeezed the trigger of his weapon as hard as he could. The gun did not fire and he immediately corrected his mistake, shifting his hands into the proper position on the standard issue G22. The safe action feature gave way and he began unloading his rounds without regard for proper delegation of action or command. Within seconds, other officers flooded the room and drew their own weapons without question. Their ‘shoot first’ mentality was usually a legal and moral liability but in this situation they felt as if there was no question on how to approach their actions. The monster roared and swiped its arm at the incoming rounds, nearly all of them connecting to the gooey skin and falling to the floor after a complete loss of kinetic energy.

The human beneath the monster had faded, Noah still lived and breathed but his mind had been muffled by the sheer temper and fury of the creature above. “We are **SAVAGE** Now!” the inhuman voice called out. Noah stirred beneath the ooze, not fully in control of his own actions but still vaguely guiding them. Savage approached the warped metal bars and grasped them tightly. Each hand encircling the entirety of each bar easily as he pulled with enough force to not only bend the bars inward but separate the base of them from the concrete they had been built into. The concrete tore itself from the ceiling the floor that the bars had been mounted into and sprinkled dust and chunks of broken stone all over the floor and immediate area. Savage’s opaque black skin now tainted whitish grey by a mild coating of heavy dust. He easily tossed the metal to the side, which clattered loudly but was ultimately drowned out by the constant wave of bullets. Savage counted 7 officers in front of him that would soon be no more. He had no patience for his situation, there would be no negotiations. Savage marched forward, his massive hand engulfing Borough’s entire torso easily in a powerful and unrelenting grip. Borough screamed, it was wet as it shifted into a gurgle. Savage felt his fingertips break the skin of the man he held, each and every rib failing to protect the vital organs beneath as they shattered into dozens of pieces beneath the muscle. The man quickly grew quiet and limp, it was unclear if he had died or just passed out from the extensive pain. Ultimately it did not matter as he would have bled out if left alone. Savage squeezed the man one last time, his wet fleshy bits slipping out from between his clawed fingers and dropping with wet ‘plops’ onto the floor of the building. The man’s torso finally separating from his lower half which dropped to the floor with a solid thud. The shooting had quieted as the man died, the other officers now realizing how ineffective their attacks had been and how inevitable their own mortality was. Savage looked towards the next nearest officer; a blonde woman who was marginally overweight with a face covered in freckles. With one easy move, Savage pegged the upper half of the now bifurcated body towards the woman. “**YEET!!!**” his rough and rugged voice exerted as it searched the human’s mind beneath for an appropriate word. It connected with a wet smack and knocked the officer out cold. Savage heard the man who had been in his cell with his host screaming a series of nearly incoherent profanities but ultimately chose to ignore him as he did not appear to be a threat of any kind.

Savage was a murderous and towering beast, but he was not cruel. His punishment was fair in some twisted and illogical way. Obviously, the officer’s deserved their deaths for imprisoning him wrongfully. Savage’s thoughts were direct and unbothered by any questionable moral compass to sway his decision, he tossed bodies around the room with little effort. He approached another officer and planted his massive foot on the man’s chest and kicked just as he grasped each arm evenly. The man’s sternum caved inwards with a loud crack and the skin along his upper arms tore. Each arm separated with little effort as the man’s screams quieted instantly from the shock and blood loss. Savage pegged another officer with one of the two severed arms as he grasped the other closely like a baseball bat. “Careful! He’s Armed!” one of the three remaining officers screamed while pointing wildly at the makeshift weapon. Savage broke into a boisterous laugh and stomped over to one of the remaining policemen. He swung the severed arm over his head, scraping its knuckles across the ceiling and leaving a bloody red streak before finally connecting with the puny human in front of him. The human’s skull gave way rather easily and collapsed in on itself. The jelly like brain within spilling out through the man’s ears and nose as his legs gave way and collapsed to the floor. Savage roared once more, practically showered in the gallons of blood that he had spilled around the room carelessly. There was nothing left for him there, the remaining humans cowered in fear. Noah felt his consciousness stir back from the oblivion’s edge it had hovered by and grow more in control of the body he now inhabited. There was no fear or regret, only awareness. He counted his victims, five in total. His mind lingered back on his feelings of what he had done for the deer he believed he had murdered just the day before. He did not know the humans he had killed, and something within him told him to feel nothing towards them. Yet the remining humanity below screamed for some sort of memory, some sort of redemption. It was as if two competing minds struggled to aim towards a single goal, neither able to entirely think for themselves anymore. Noah looked at his monstrous hands. The body was clearly not his own, yet it felt… familiar. It felt, _right._ Noah brought his left forearm into his view and brought his index finger to a conical point. The humans in the room watched silently, none daring to disturb the monstrosity before them who had so graciously granted them mercy. Noah forced his hand, Savage’s hand into their skin. The talon depressed the gooey layer, slowly piercing into it and revealing a secondary red layer in the same color as the veins that shifted randomly around his body. He brought the finger down in a straight line, only about 3 or so inches in length, before doing the same thing 3 more times adjacent to one another. The four tallies were then joined by an additional diagonal line from the top left of the group to the bottom right. He had marked the lives he had taken onto the only place Noah knew he could respect them. The crimson lines each representing a single life and permanently marking the symbiote forever. Theoretically they were not in fact scars. The symbiotic creature could not scar, but there was a respect it held for its host. Or at least the beginnings of what would become a properly respectful bond and he allowed the lines to stay.

Noah felt fully aware of the actions he had performed and felt little regret. He was unsure if his true feelings were being inhibited somehow or if he felt that way. His body moved without his consent, pushing itself straight through the stone wall of the building that held the massacre they chose to leave behind. “What am I? What happened.” The questions were empty in nature, as they had already been answered. Savage now lived inside him, they had become one being and understood each other equally. Neither was fully in command but neither could function without the other. Savage marched their body into the distance, towards the setting sun. They had no home now, no place to live. They would head west, towards California.

Epilogue

Noah scrolled through the smartphone he had acquired. It was not his but his newfound freedom, or lack thereof, had allowed him to not feel any real remorse for petty thievery. A short swap of a SIM card and some easy tricks he had searched on the internet allowed him to basically commandeer the piece of technology for himself. He had spent the last few days carefully following the developing news story that had been growing out of his hometown in New Mexico. Reaching California was more than easy enough with the capabilities of his new body.

Noah stretched his legs on beach chair he laid on, cracking his kneecaps audibly and adjusting his sunglasses. The sun was pleasant, possibly a little too warm but not anything he had to worry about. He stared into the water, which sparkled wildly. He was alone, the sands undisturbed by the capitalistic ravages of Californian companies. He assumed they had just not quite reached the area of the beach he had chosen, about as private as it could get. He scrolled over yet another article, stating the death toll of the ‘wild animal’ that had killed all those police officers along with a very crude artist rendition of his second face. “bla bla bla 6 dead including…” he skimmed the words, noting each of the officer’s names along with his own. It had been assumed that he had been killed and his remained ravaged beyond recognition as the witnesses had stated they recalled ‘the boy’ being ‘swallowed’ up by the creature. He had left witnesses, but their eyewitness reports had been labeled as inaccurate or unreliable due to the extreme psychological trauma they had suffered. Noah constantly searched for any mention of his father, only finding a single small article and interview that had been labeled as an unrelated incident. There was brief mention that the man may have been shot by his own son, but the father had argued against that. Without a body to lay to rest and nobody to charge with any legal offenses, the general public had just left Noah’s family alone. Allowing them to mourn their son in peace.

Noah had been itching to contact his family but knew better, he had seen more than enough movies to know that letting anyone know that he was not actually dead would be a recipe for disaster. A strong breeze swept over him, the salty sea air an entirely new scent that he was beginning to love more than anything he had experienced during his life in New Mexico. He did consider himself homeless, but after a short conversation with his new ‘other’ he had discovered he was not alone. There were dozens of other Klyntar across the planet and he decided somebody had to find them. Noah had no plans to start any time soon but after brief research he found that he was lucky enough to have possibly found one in the very state he found himself in. Nobody had seen it up close, but witnesses stated that it was a small creature with a deep blue complexion typically spotted near beaches or in the deep sea. Savage had expressed that he had no interest in earth’s oceans and Noah chose to respect that. Their relationship had been growing over the past few days and he expected it would continue to do so for many years. The waves slapped against the shore and Noah pulled himself off the beach chair. The sand was hot between his toes, but the texture was pleasant.

“She’s… she’s beautiful.” Noah whispered to himself as his eyes focused on the distance, further than any un-augmented human would have been able to see. With every step he took towards the water line, his skin darkened. The ooze bubbled out of his pores from within and engulfed his body, empowering his muscles and simplifying his emotional mentality. There was no anger in his mind, not yet. His new body towered over the sands, his shadow wide and massive. There was no roar or charge, only a purposeful walk towards the water. Each step grew faster and faster until he broke into a full run. The sand beneath his massive feet giving way as it tore its way into the air with each kick. Savage tucked into a crouch and pushed downwards just as the water contacted the shoreline, where the sand was densest. He launched into the air, soaring hundreds of feet into the sky and out into the blue nothingness. Savage hated water, its deep nothingness unnerving his simplistic mind. Noah fought the urge to avoid the ocean, listening to the wind whistling over their ears. Within seconds Savage felt their stomach crawl into their throat as gravity finally took effect. The way down was much faster than the way up, the area they planned to land on much larger than it had first appeared. “comin in hot” Noah told himself as his other began to take the reigns of control.

The metal deck of the large ship echoed loudly, bending inward from the incredible weight that had landed upon it. Savage had tuned the outside noise out, several humans screamed incoherently at the monster some had seen on the news. They felt their imminent deaths and witnessed their destruction in corporeal form. Savage ignored them, they had nowhere to run and he wasn’t going anywhere. However, they were not what he was here for.

His eyes scanned over the creature in front of him. Savage and Noah beneath felt a matching infatuation. He stumbled along his words, none forming coherently as he stared deeply. Her navy skin held random streaks of a nearly black purple in a similar manner to his own. Her eyes were a strong opalescent, not quite burning brightly like his own but emanating a sort of weak glow. Her mouth was sharp and beaklike, unlike his own which was filled with rows of massive triangular teeth. Rather than hair, she had several small tentacles slicked back behind her head and each of her fingers were webbed. She was clearly adapted to a more aquatic lifestyle… fitting considering her environment. Savage’s ears tuned in to her screaming, finally becoming aware of the words she had been yelling. “Who ARE you?! What are you doing here!” Her webbed fingers shifted into small points as her eye lenses narrowed.

Savage backed up slowly with both palms open, indicating himself as an ally and not a threat. His back bumped into a metal wall on the stern of the whaling ship and he leaned against it with a faux coolness that neither Savage nor his host were really adept at.

“so.” Their traditionally roaring voice had lowered to a more appropriate growl. “You like jazz?”


End file.
